The Peacekeeper Tribute
by Vonnie.chi
Summary: Marvel isn't the type of person to use his head often, he's what you'd call an impulsive person, unless it's about his goals in life, which is to be a Peacekeeper. (Sorry the summary can't fit so can you spend a few minutes of your time to even just look at the summary? Gladly appreciated). [Oneshot, I worked on this with my friend, but she doesn't have a fanfiction acc.]
1. Summary

Marvel isn't the type of person to use his head often, he's what you would call an impulsive person, unless it's about his goals in life. In this case, to be a Peacekeeper. You would think it would be hard for someone under the age of 18 to reach this goal, but Marvel had trained all his life in District 2. He finally achieved his dream when he was sent away as a Peacekeeper in a rare circumstance. If everything had gone to plan he would have remained content with his job.

If only his plan didn't include depending on his own luck not to be picked for the Hunger Games, his life could have become the one he pursued.

Everything seemed to go to plan until Credence Purick's name was picked.

Courage,

Strength,

And a big heart underneath them all.

Are they all enough to make Marvel stay as himself?


	2. The Peacekeeper Tribute

MARVEL POV

Entering the training centre, my eyes immediately catching the glint of a familiar weapon leaning menacingly on its rack. Fixed with a sharp blade, so easily able to slice through any prey. In this case, other competitors. People.

I stalk confidently toward the rack, pulling the long stick off and weighing it in my hands. It balances perfectly in my palms, so I give it a tentative swivel. Easy, I think, a smirk sneaking onto my face. My confidence rising, I spin it around a few more times, adjusting. I feel a strangely curious pair of eyes watching me as I raise the spear, aim, and launch it fiercely into the air with such potency and precision that it directly pierces the heart of the dummy and the blade is seen on the other side.

I whirl around to confront my watcher, only to find that it is the Girl on Fire, the one from District 12. It seems that everyone else has noticed her too, because the hatred in their glares is palpable in the room, even though they are not directed at me. The moment passes, and almost all pairs of eyes are focused back to their own form of training, except tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4. They are still looking, their stares the most intense of all. I realise that my own two eyes are glaring as well, spurred by unknown hate and jealousy. I tear my eyes away as she and the boy from District 12 head off to train, but instead I find myself studying my other competitors.

District 1. My district... my head swims a little. No, I shake my head. Not my district. Just for now. Until I get out of this.

Glimmer, the girl who's supposed to be my tribute partner, notices my stare; I shake my head in return as if to dismiss a thought. Then there's District 2, with the second strongest 18 year old. His name is Cato. How do I know this?

Because I'm the strongest.

And the boy from District 2 is my best friend.

I never wanted to come here. Cato definitively did, though, but not for the reason the incompetent lower districts think. They're always unprepared and secretly glaring at our district's heroes but they themselves never train. They're like stubborn teenagers who refuse to face the real world, seeking only what they want. I remember being captivated by Cato's desire to bring honour to our district, almost as an obsession. He always tried to mask it as a thirst for blood but I saw through it. I was his best friend, after all.

Until I moved to District 1.

I once lived in District 2. I arose at the break of dawn and trained daily but my goal, unlike Cato's, was to become a Peacekeeper; one of the two short-coming futures available at my age. So I trained with no aspiration to become a tribute, and with the Peacekeeper hire-ups knowing this, I was advantaged. This is how I became brawny and well-built, and this is how I was able to be picked as a Peacekeeper to be sent to District 1, even before I had escaped tribute qualification age.

I told you I was the strongest.

Obviously, there were rules concerning my relocation. One of which was that I would still be registered for the Hunger Games, but with my allegiance pledged to District 1.

I obliged, eager to begin my work as a Peacekeeper.

Never would I have even dreamt that this would happen.

I had been going around the district to pick up those who were unable to go to the square by themselves and were in need of assistance. According to the older Peacekeepers, some merely didn't want to–especially the last districts, which shows how incompetent they are. I lost track of my train of thought when I heard quiet sobs coming from a wrecked house concealed by thick bushes. It resembled a tree house more than an actual house due to the tree branches it was constructed with. I peeked inside and saw tattered remains of clothes everywhere, almost missing the boy cowering in the corner of the shack. He was crouching with his knees tucked beneath his chin, his face and legs grimy with dirt. His clothes were ragged and he looked thin from starvation. I reached out a hand to comfort him, approaching slowly as to not seem threatening. He hesitantly reached out to take my hand and I slowly pulled him up. He was so tired that he couldn't even stand on his own. I carried him against my chest with his head on my shoulders and my hands supporting his lower body.

We had only just reached the square and signed him up when the opening speech ended, and the female tribute's name was called out. Nobody offered themselves as tribute; everyone seemed to respect each other. If it was her time to shine, it was hers to shine. The girl seemed dangerous as well; the odds were definitely in this district's favour. Then the male tribute's name was called out.

"Credence Purick." The name boomed out and echoed in my ears. For a whole minute the square was immersed in soft murmuring and everyone was searching through the crowd for the boy when suddenly I found every single person's pair of eyes focused on me. This was strange, because obviously it hadn't even been my name called out... until the boy I was carrying said 3 plain, quavering words:

"Put me down."

It was his name that was called out. This small boy, who trembled with fear at the thought of being released into the Hunger Games, was _going_ to participate _in_ the Hunger Games. Many thoughts flitted around my mind, including the countless ways someone could kill him. But one thought prevailed, and I knew that I needed to rescue him. I admit, it was a very ridiculous thought, but in that moment I could think of nothing less than to save this trembling child.

He did not deserve to die at the hands of a merciless killer.

He was too young to face the horrors awaiting him in the arena.

I would not allow it.

Before I knew it, I had gently settled him back on the ground, and I was walking up the ramp to the front.

I was accepted as a volunteer for tribute.

This is why I am still here, alive, in the arena after 14 deaths; 9 of which were my "kills" as Cato would say. Obviously I had needed to think about the trinity alliance first; it's the only way to survive. And that's what I'm doing right now, thinking about the alliance. It's the only way I can justify myself for hunting a little girl entangled helplessly in a net.

" _It's just another kill_ ", I tell myself firmly, but I can't seem to convince myself that it's that simple. I close my eyes just as she reaches a hand through the trap and whispers, "Katniss...!" but it's too late. I've already released the spear viciously into the air, surprising myself by half hoping that I'll miss. But I know, before I've even opened my eyes, that my spear had pierced its target.

This kill is different.

I realise this as soon as my eyes fly open after throwing the spear. This time I feel the shock of killing a little girl, murdering her, and it reminds me what I'm here for.

I'm here for the boy. I sacrificed myself for a boy I didn't know.

I sacrificed myself for Credence Purick, because I believed he deserved to live. And now I've killed a young girl I didn't know, yet suddenly I find myself smirking and my muscles relaxing as I invite my death.

Katniss Everdeen's arrow penetrates my skin, having aimed and released before I even had a chance to take a step, and it impales me deep in my chest.

At least I know that I am still me as I die.

 _ **Marvel**_


End file.
